Jackal Among Snakes

After days of protracted tension and combat, much of which Argrave survived on little sleep, he finally laid his head down in one of the tents the Veidimen honor guard had pitched. He wasn’t alone, as the tent was shared with Anneliese and her acting-sister Onychinusa, and he wasn’t at peace, as the threats all around demanded his attention even still. Despite all of that, he felt now might be the time to finally rest, even if only for a few hours.

But then armor clanged into the tent, and when he opened his eyes Grimalt knelt before his bed.

“Your Majesty. One of the myriarchs is trying to see you. He’s being rather insistent.”

Argrave sat up, trying not to let his bitterness seep into his voice as he asked gruffly, “His name?”

“Batbayar,” Grimalt answered succinctly.

Hearing that was an awakening far more effective than a cold bucket of water to the head. Beside him, Anneliese also roused, sitting up as he did. With a partner to share the frustration of being roused, his bitterness died somewhat. In a more distant corner, Onychinusa—who had eliminated her need for sleep in light of making the whole of her body constructed of magic—came to attention.

Argrave reached forward and grabbed his socks and boots, instructing Grimalt, “Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

The Veidimen nodded and left the tent, heeding Argrave’s directive. Anneliese also crawled to grab her footwear but Argrave touched her, catching her attention. “Stay,” he told her, thinking first of Onychinusa. He didn’t want her listening in on this meeting.

With Anneliese, he didn’t need to elaborate further. She gave a nod of confirmation and sat down on their bedding, rubbing her tired eyes. He gave her long white hair a rustle, put on his gloves last, and then made for the exit of the tent. Grimalt waited, ready to escort Argrave. He gave him a nod to lead on, and the Veidimen led the path.

It was a quiet walk for some time, but then Grimalt spoke, saying, “Your Majesty, if I may be presumptuous…”

“Presume away,” Argrave answered back quickly.

“I am rather skilled at judging people’s disposition,” the elven warrior explained. “Ask any near me, and they’ll tell you the same thing. If that can be of service to you, then…” Argrave paused walking, causing Grimalt to look back in confusion. “You’re… shocked?”

He sized up this Veidimen officer. He kept the top of his head shaved and grew no facial hair, but looking at his eyes in the dusk… they were amber, certainly. If this meant what he thought it might, then… well, frankly, Argrave didn’t know what to think. He and Anneliese had a system of body language to convey much of what she learned from her near-supernatural empathy. If Grimalt had this same thing…

“Can you notice lies?” Argrave asked.

“Eh…” Grimalt scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’m better than most, but I’ve been tricked before, Your Majesty.”

Argrave nodded slowly, creating a new compartment in his mind to deal with this issue. “Sure… tell me what you think, after.” He followed behind again, realizing that this probably warranted further conversation. But for now, he would need to speak to Batbayar with his own ability.

#####

Anneliese studied Onychinusa curiously as the woman ran her fingers through the dirt in the corner of the tent. The elf said nothing as she sat there with her knees against her chest. She wore simple brown clothing, and seemed not to care that her white hair, her fingers, or indeed her whole body got dirty. With tan skin and unorthodoxly long ears, she was similar to Anneliese yet very different simultaneously.

The past year with Argrave, Anneliese had managed to bring many facets of her curiosity under her control. Instead, she directed all of that desire to learn towards things that would benefit the kingdom, and most importantly to her, its king. But seeing the last living elf from the ancient civilization that the elves here likely descended from, and further a mortal champion of a god, Anneliese was filled with a desire to probe, to pry, and to learn.

Argrave said he would like this to be a fleeting encounter, Anneliese thought. But knowing that it is fleeting makes it all the more enticing.

One didn’t need to be an empath to see that Onychinusa was lonely at present. Anneliese found her feet moving towards the woman before her rationality could restrain her. As soon as she came near, the elf was guarded and cautious. Ostensibly, this woman was hundreds of years old… but looking at her, Anneliese felt she was looking at a little sister.

Realizing the woman would answer no questions like this, she knelt down beside Onychinusa, asking quietly, “Would you like to play a game?”

Onychinusa didn’t answer, staring ahead with the same guardedness.

“Here.” Anneliese lowered her finger to the ground, drawing four lines in the dirt that crossed each other. “Argrave showed me this. It’s called tic-tac-toe. We take turns—I draw circles, you draw crosses. Line up three in a row… you win,” she explained, demonstrating a win. Once that was done, she smoothed the dirt and drew another board, taking the first move.

Though Onychinusa hesitated a long while… she did eventually lean forward and draw a cross. Anneliese took the corners and soundly won. Onychinusa looked miffed, and then drew the next board herself. Like most games of tic-tac-toe between adults, it rapidly devolved into a festival of ties. After ten or so games, Onychinusa grew annoyed—not at the game, but at Anneliese. She wanted to be left alone.

Once that happened, Anneliese stood up and walked away, leaving the elf to ponder her motives. The mounting displeasure died in its infancy, leaving Onychinusa with only confusion. When she took her place elsewhere, she heard the sounds of dirt moving furiously. When she glanced over, she saw Onychinusa playing the game on her lonesome.

After perhaps ten or so minutes, Onychinusa walked over and said, “You can always tie if you want to.”

Catching annoyance on her tone, Anneliese played into that by asking, “It is quite the stupid game, yes?”

“If you knew that, why do that? Is this a message?” she crossed her arms.

Anneliese shook her head. “Not at all. I just thought it might be more fun that doing nothing. I have a good friend who never had to sleep because of his condition,” she continued. “He called it torturous, enduring some nights.”

Onychinusa stared at her, saying nothing as she thought. When the thoughts in her head seemed to overwhelm her, Onychinusa walked back to her corner in the tent quickly, almost as if overwhelmed.

“Are you curious about why we asked for you to come with us, instead of Dimocles or someone else?” Anneliese ventured.

Onychinusa hesitated sitting for half a moment, and then did so with a huff while giving no answer. Her hatred seemed to flare, and Anneliese felt like she’d found a light.

“It’s because I hate Dimocles,” Anneliese said. “So smug, so presumptuous…”

“I hate him too,” Onychinusa responded almost brightly. “I told him I hoped he drowned.”

Anneliese laughed despite herself, and though Onychinusa seemed surprised by the noise she gradually managed a smile of her own.

“The Lord’s emissaries told me that they sent Dimocles because he’d be good with people,” she said almost gloatingly.

When she realized Onychinusa’s guard had largely dropped, Anneliese searched for her next words, trying to find a way to interject her questions about this ancient elven woman. Experiencing this, she felt firsthand why Argrave seemed to like manipulation so much… unfortunately, Anneliese was uncertain her ‘skills’ would be of us for anyone beyond this extremely temperamental woman who had little experience socializing.

Whatever the case, it had been a long time since she indulged her curiosity. Now that she had come to this point, she’d make the most of it. And along the way… perhaps this might serve a larger purpose.

#####

“Do you realize just how compromising what you’ve asked me to do is?” Batbayar questioned Argrave calmly, leaning up against the trunk of one of the redwoods as a ward surrounded them. Only Grimalt was witness to their conversation. “With our leadership in disarray, with the elven gods fractured and hunted by… whatever those things were,” the myriarch shook his head. “Amidst all that, you send Ganbaatar to ask me to surrender the secrets of the dryads. If you were a conquering monarch, you are well poised for your invasion.”

Argrave pointed his finger. “And deal with the abominations we dealt with earlier? Not a chance. Nobody’s surrendering anything: that’s the point. I don’t need what the dryads have. Even if I could get the secrets for their good bows, without their unique woodworking abilities my kingdom could never make them,” he dismissed. “What I need lies in what they preserve. And what they preserve… you’ve seen it, those ruins.”

“There are more secrets than that of making bows,” Batbayar shook his head. “Look, the only point I’m trying to make is that this is highly suspicious. You should have no knowledge of the dryads. And asking me? If Ganbaatar hadn’t broached this idea while vouching for you, you would be answering the myriarchs, not me. That boy is many thing, but he’s shrewd and loyal.”

“And angry, at times,” Argrave nodded. “He yelled at your gods, you know. Right in their realm, right to their faces.”

Batbayar laughed, distracted from this conversation for a brief moment. “His anger’s gotten that bad, huh?” He seemed to be reminiscing on something, and he eventually sighed and walked away from the tree. “Listen. If Ganbaatar really thinks you’re all that, I’m willing to forget what I heard. Alternatively, I can bring this to the other myriarchs, or support it if you bring it up. But secretly? Not a chance,” he dismissed.

Argrave took a deep breath upon hearing that. If Batbayar was out, then two options remained to him. One—bring it to all the myriarchs. Argrave thought his chance of success there was thin, as the dryads were a sensitive subject. Two—rely on Altan. This was feasible, but with her association with Erlebnis in mind, Argrave was very hesitant. His intuition screamed at him both would be unideal.

Argrave circled around the myriarch, positing, “Do you think anyone is going to risk breaking tradition by allowing access to the dryads when each of them will be vying for Supreme Myriarch?”

“That position isn’t like kingship,” Batbayar followed Argrave with his head as he walked around him. “It’s a burden. The stress alone kills most, and if not that, the self-flagellation. To lead is to sacrifice—at least, so it is among our people.”

“Most of your people have abandoned their gods. Yours is the last army with true worshippers,” Argrave stopped circling and stared at Batbayar blankly. “Even after the return, the last sight they’ve seen is those gods, heralded as saviors, battered by unknown enemies. The people now… Otgon, Altan… do you think they expect to preside over elves as it always was? Do you expect them to follow old traditions as the world changes around them?”This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Batbayar narrowed his eyes. “Those beneath judge those above.”

“Will they be so quick to judge when survival hangs on the balance?” Argrave narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be frank with you, Batbayar, because I think you can appreciate that. Would you be happy with your residence in this forest coming to an end because a council refused to give aid from a proven friend?” He held his arms out wide. “Because if we cannot fight this new threat, the dryads die regardless.”

Batbayar’s jaw tightened, and then he stepped away. Argrave briefly thought he was going to leave, but he stopped a fair distance away and stood there to think. After a moment which felt like an eternity, the old elf turned around and walked back forth.

“If I am present… and if you tell me what it is, precisely, you hope to obtain from there…” he closed his eyes. “Gods be damned, what that boy makes me do…” his lips moved for a bit, and then he spit off to the side. “I can… help you.”

Argrave breathed a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how relieving that is to hear, Batbayar. I’m thinking… how long? Things have to settle down here… but time is of the essence.”

“How about twenty-four hours? Tomorrow night,” Batbayar suggested. “Before I change my mind.”